A Sudden Turn For The Worse
by Far.Too.Obsessed.Fan
Summary: This is a short story that I will be adding to that's set somewhere in the first or second series of The Vampire Diaries. What would happen if Damon and Stefan were stuck at home all day without their rings? Enjoy, all criticism, (with a good interest), is welcome. Thanks for reading!


Neither of the brothers felt right without their rings. Honestly, both Stefan and Damon were moderately surprised Elena had managed to prise the things off their fingers because they'd been stuck on there for so long; but, now there they both stood, recovering from their sedative-laced coffee - or, in Damon's case, his sedative- laced coffee-and-vodka - and gazing at their now ringless fingers where a thick band of paler skin was now visible.

Damon snorted, his eyebrows raised, smirking and shaking his head. "Honestly, I didn't think the girl had it in her," he drawled. "Sedatives in the drink – it's a classic."

"Yes, it does sound like something you'd do," Stefan sighed. "But, our rings. Why would she do it to take them? Why would my girlfriend want me trapped inside my own house with my asshole brother?"

"I know, I feel so sorry for you," Damon mocked. "Why, if he heard you say something like that he might just -"

"Look!" Stefan interjected, grabbing a note from the table. He read it aloud. "Sorry about this, but I think it's time you guys put aside your differences and had a bit of family bonding time. I've got your rings so you're not going outside, so you might as well make the most of the drinks and food I've left for you in the fridge and watch some T.V or something. Have fun! Love, Elena."

Damon groaned, and knocked his head against the wall. "Bitch!"

Stefan laughed. "She's beat you at your own game, brother."

Frowning, Damon froze. "Wait, you don't actually think I'm gonna take her up on this? No chance, little bro. I'll be in my room." He stood up to leave. "Oh, and, Stefan? If an Asian girl turns up, direct her to my room will you?"

"Sure thing," Stefan muttered, getting up and opening the fridge. "My God!" he gasped as he picked up a bottle.

Damon crossed the room to his side in a second, far faster than any human could manage. As he snatched the bottle from his brother, Stefan could have sworn Damon was tearing up - just a little, anyhow. "Do you have any idea what this is, Stefan? It's not just vodka. It's the Russian kind, Stefan, the real Russian kind! Do you have any idea of the alcohol percentage in this? It's insane! Oh God, Stefan, I think I just died and went to heaven!"

Stefan sighed. "Well, now you're just being unrealistic - for more than one reason..."

Damon didn't really seem to see his brother. In fact, he didn't really seem to see anything apart from the bottle in his shaking hand and the glass he was fumbling for in the side cupboard. Finally, he set them down together, and carefully poured himself a glass before gulping it down. "Whoa..." he breathed, blinking quickly with raised eyebrows and steadying himself on Stefan's shoulder. Damon reached to pour another shot, but this time, he wasn't so steady with the bottle. In fact, he almost knocked the glass of the side with it in his hurry to drink more; but, when he finally did, knocking it back in seconds and stumbling a little after wiping some from his chin, he looked like he was about to pass out.

"Crap, Damon! What did you say the alcohol percentage was in that!?" Demanded Stefan.

"A MILLIONNNN!" Sung his brother in reply, waltzing over to the sofa before tripping backwards over the armrest onto it, bottle still in hand. Stefan buried his face in his palms.

"Well, what d'you say 'bout that game then?" Damon slurred, already pouring himself another glass and beginning to sing drunkenly. "I'm too sexy for my shirt, too sexy for my shirt..." he lapsed into humming and mumbling.

Stefan picked up the remote and flicked on the sports channel, drowning out Damon's singing by turning up the volume. Suddenly, he grinned as he spotted an opportunity to make the most out of his brother's drunken state.

"Damon, who do you reckon will win?" he asked.

"Red guys. Everyone... Everyone likes red... right?"

"They're losing by miles, Da -"

"Yeah, well YOU'RE losing by miles, you -"

Stefan ignored the poor insult and continued. "What do you say we make a bet then? 50 dollars on who'll win?"

"More like FIVE THOUSAND!"

Stefan snorted. Damon was going to regret this so badly.

A little while afterwards, Stefan was glaring in disbelief at the television screen through the cracks between his fingers, while his brother – who had, by this time, passed out on the sofa – snored contentedly. After they'd made their bet, the results had suddenly tipped, considerably, in Damon's favour. Player after player of Stefan's league champions had left the pitch and not returned each for their own reason; it seemed that the list of casualties was rising every ten minutes, and this match was turning into a bloodbath. With only thirty seconds to go, and his team numerous goals behind, Stefan was hoping for a miracle.

He didn't get one. Against all odds, his team had lost, and Damon's had won. And now he owed his brother thousands of pounds he didn't actually have.

'_Oh, shit,' _Stefan thought miserably.


End file.
